The Ginger with the Odious Mustache
by Ambur
Summary: "Oh Mr. Holmes," she said. "I'm so frightened. I am being followed." This is a Victorian Sherolly.
1. Chapter 1

**Hey guys...been thinking of this one for awhile It will be multi chapter.**

**This takes place in the Victorian era...circa 1890 or so. This story is actually taken in part by one of Doyle's. I hope you all enjoy the liberties that I have taken with it.**

**Disclaimer: Not mine :(**

**Read on my lovelies!**

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The young woman stared up at the door which read 221 Baker Street. She had already sent a letter by post informing Mr. Sherlock Holmes that she would call upon him this morning at 9 o'clock. She swallowed hard, her nerve beginning to fail her. Perhaps she was just being silly. The position was a highly paid one and there would only be one child for her to tutor and attend too.

She started to turn and leave when the sickly feeling in her stomach reappeared with a vengeance, affirming the need to go and seek the advice of Mr. Holmes. She turned back to the door and knocked before she lost her nerve. The door was opened by a kindly elderly woman who introduced herself as Mrs. Hudson, the land lady of the building.

Mrs. Hudson led her inside and up the stairs to 221 B. Mrs. Hudson knocked and opened the door. "A young lady to see you, Sherlock," she said.

Sherlock Holmes turned from the fire place and looked shrewdly at the young woman. "Ms. Molly Hooper, I presume," he said in a deep baritone that sent shivers all through the young woman's body. "I received your letter this morning. Do come in and make yourself comfortable," he finished, gesturing to the sofa. Beside the sofa stood a fair haired man with a gentle face.

"Allow me to introduce my friend and colleague, Dr. John Watson," Sherlock said.

"How do you do, Ms. Hooper," John said smiling, offering her his hand. She stepped forward and shook his hand.

"Hello," Molly said softly.

Sherlock moved from the fire place. "Do sit down Ms. Hooper and relay to me in more detail these extraordinary events that you mentioned in your letter."

"I am not sure that you will find them extraordinary, Mr. Holmes," she said, sitting down. "I am unsure what to make of it myself. It could be nothing more than a trifle."

"Do let me be the judge of that, Ms. Hooper," Sherlock said in a commanding tone.

Molly blinked, clearly startled by his tone of voice. John cleared his throat. "Perhaps if you could just tell us what has occurred to bring you here, Ms. Hooper," he said gently as he sat down beside her.

"Very well," she said, staring at the carpet. "It was suggested to me that I contact you Mr. Holmes, by Lady McNair whom my deceased mother was good friends with. Lady McNair said that you had helped her husband find some very important political documents that were misplaced at one time and that you were very kind and thorough in your service." She did not see the amused expression that crossed Sherlock's features when she described him as kind. She looked up at him when he did not speak.

"Pray, continue," he said.

She nodded and sighed. "I am not a wealthy woman as you can see, Mr. Holmes," she said. "My father was a professor of music at University and when he died, he was able to leave us with a small amount of money. My mother and I lived comfortably, but at times it was difficult for us. I have always worked as a governess. A few weeks ago, I received a letter in the post. The letter was from a man named Rafe Little and he claimed that he had been a good friend and business partner of my late Uncle Charles Hooper. He wrote that my Uncle had died recently and having never been married and no children, that I was the sole beneficiary to what was left of his fortune."

She paused and looked at both men. "I spoke to Lady McNair about it and she suggested that I go and meet Mr. Little to discuss the terms of my late Uncle's will. I did so two weeks ago," she said.

Sherlock seemed to perk at this and he looked pointedly at her. "You meet with this man without a chaperone?" he asked.

Molly stiffened and attempted to keep her brow from narrowing. "I assure you Mr. Holmes that I am quite capable of taking care of myself. As I have no father or brother to speak for me, I am used to having to make decisions on my own frequently."

His lip quirked and she had the feeling that he was laughing at her. She found she wanted to slap the smirk from his handsome face. She blinked and looked away, shocked by where her thoughts had gone. She could feel the flush moving over her neck and prayed that he had not noticed. She dared to look up again and his smirk had widened, letting her know that he had in deed noticed.

She cleared her throat. "Shall I continue Mr. Holmes," she asked, haughtily.

"By all means, Ms. Hopper," he said with amusement glinting in his eyes.

She stared at him with hard eyes, but continued. "I met with Mr. Little and he showed me my Uncle's will and I had indeed been left a fortune. After I met with Mr. Little, I went straight away to see Lady McNair, as she often advises me now that my mother has passed away. She was thrilled for me and suggested that now that I was an independent woman, that I give notice to my current employer so as to give her time to find a suitable replacement for governess for her child. I did so, however, a few days after that, Mr. Little asked to meet with me again. Apparently, there were some complications, a few small debts to be cleared and some of the money was being held up in other business dealings of my Uncle's. Mr. Little told me that he was doing all the he could to get this matter attended too. Well, as you can imagine, I was greatly distressed as now I had no means of supporting myself. I informed Mr. Little of this, and he was very kind. He offered me a position as music teacher to his young daughter until the money could be placed in an account for me."

Sherlock's brow rose. "How very kind, indeed," he said in a tone that suggested he meant something else entirely.

"Is there something you wish to say, Mr. Holmes?" Molly asked stiffly.

Sherlock's lip quirked once again and Molly clenched her fists. "Not at all, Ms. Hooper," he said. "I was merely agreeing with you."

John sighed and rolled his eyes. "Ms. Hooper, please continue," he said gently.

Molly shifted in her seat and smiled at John. "Thank you doctor," she said. "You are very kind. As I was saying, I of course accepted the situation immediately and a few days later, I found myself at Greer House, taking charge of a lovely nine year old girl."

"Greer house is in the country?" Sherlock asked.

"Yes," she said. "Rather far actually. I have to ride my bike when I need to go anywhere I'm afraid. It is much too far to walk."

"So I observed," Sherlock said looking at her before turning to John. "Notice the scuff on the insides of both shoes John, from the pedals in the bicycle," he said. "and the brightness of her eyes. Also notice the healthy, creamy peach skin on Ms. Hooper's face. It is obvious that she engages in some form of exercise."

Molly could not help the flush that arose from her neck to her cheeks. She quickly looked down and began counting the squares in the carpet.

"It is safe to assume that you find the situation to your liking, Ms. Hooper?" Sherlock inquired, forcing her to look at him and smiling when he saw the blush on her cheeks.

"Yes…" she said slowly, ignoring the burning on her cheeks and the desire to jump over the sofa at him.

"I sense there is hesitation, Ms. Hooper," he said, still smirking. "There must be something else to this story that you have come all this way to tell me. I cannot imagine that you would purposely waste my time."

Molly's temper flared. She had come to this man for help and she had been told that he was respectful and professional. All he had done was mock her since she stepped foot into his flat.

"I apologize for wasting your time, Mr. Holmes," she bit out. "I can see that you are not the person to help me." She stood. "Good day, sir," she snapped. "Good day Dr. Watson," she said smiling.

She had just started to take a step when Sherlock spoke. "Sit down, Ms. Hooper," he bit out in a hard voice.

Molly turned to look at him and saw his face was as hard as his voice. They both stood silently glaring at one another. "I said sit down," he repeated.

"My hearing is in no way impaired, thank you very much," she snapped. "I am not used to being spoken too in such a forceful way, especially when I have come to you for help."

"That you have never been spoken too forcefully is obvious Ms. Hooper, by the risks that you take with your own safety. We're you my sister or wife…things would be very different for you, I am sure," he said. "But that is neither here nor there. Now you say that you are not used to being spoken to thusly and I say that I am not used to having my wishes disregarded. Sit down, Ms. Hooper," he said. "I will not ask it of you again."

"Sherlock…"John warned.

"What John," he asked. "She came to us for help and help her I intend to do."

Molly stared at him, biting back the indigent retort that was sitting on the tip of her tongue. Sherlock lifted his brow and wore an expression on his face that almost dared her not to do as he had asked. With an impatient huff, she sat down.

"Now Ms. Hooper, tell me why you hesitated," Sherlock said. "Something else has happened I think which is why you are here today."

Molly swallowed hard and looked down. She suddenly felt very overwhelmed and very alone. She had felt so silly coming to Sherlock Holmes in the first place and now all she felt was cold fear. She could feel the tears begin to sting her eyes. She had struggled so to stay brave as she had no family and no one to go too. But sitting there in the detective's flat with his shrewd eyes appraising her and John's kind gentle eyes waiting for her to speak, she found she could no longer hold in what she had been feeling the past week.

"Oh Mr. Holmes," she said softly. "You are right…all is not a good as I am trying to paint it. I am so frightened."

Sherlock's expression became serious and concern shown in his eyes. "Why are you frightened?"

She looked up at him with wide doe eyes that shimmered with unshed tears. "I am being followed."

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**Well...did you like?**

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	2. Chapter 2

**Author jumps up and down excitedly with glee that so many of you like this! Thanks for all of your lovely reviews and follows! I appreciate it so much!**

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"Followed," Sherlock repeated thoughtfully. "When did you first notice that you were being followed?"

John leaned over and handed Molly his handkerchief. She took it and mumbled thanks as she dabbed her eyes. She took a steadying breath and closed her eyes for a moment, trying to center herself. Slowly she opened her eyes and refocused them, looking at Sherlock. "It first happened two weeks ago, though at the time, I thought nothing of it. I rode my bicycle to the train station Saturday morning so that I could catch a train into London and I take my bicycle on the train with me. I go every Saturday to visit Lady McNair for the weekend," she said with a slight trembling in her voice. "I was peddling along and I heard something behind me. I turned and I saw a man bicycling behind me. He was several feet back from me. I continued on but looked back once again when I passed Woodland Bridge and he was no longer there. I went on to the train station. When I returned Monday morning, I began my journey back to Greer house and he was there again."

"And he was there last Saturday morning and Monday morning as well?" Sherlock asked.

Molly nodded. "Yes and he was there this morning when I took the train to come and see you, Mr. Holmes."

"You stated that when you went over the Woodland Bridge that he is nowhere to be seen, is that correct?" Sherlock asked her studying her face with such scrutiny, she felt her cheeks redden.

"Yes, it's as if he disappeared into thin air," she said breathlessly.

"There are no side roads?" John asked.

"No, nothing," she said. "Except there are woods on one side of the road which has a few foot paths. I suppose he could make his escape on one of those, but he would have to move very quickly indeed for me not to see him. And on the opposite side of the road is the heath and it is flat and bleak," she said. "He could not have hidden himself there."

"Can you describe this man?" Sherlock asked.

"Well yes," she said. "But only from a distance. He wears a dark suit and he has dark spectacles. He has a beard and dark hair."

"Is he old or young?" John asked.

"I cannot tell that," she said. "I am guessing around middle age."

"Have you told Mr. Little of this?" Sherlock asked.

"Yes," she said. "And he had ordered a horse and trap so that I need not travel unaccompanied."

Sherlock nodded and turned towards the fire so that she only saw his peripheral. With his eyes not upon her, she took the time to study him. He was a tall man, with pale skin, and lovely, but cold green eyes. His cheek bones were well defined as was his physique. She could see that even through his dark colored suit. He was of medium build and he had large hands with long, graceful fingers. She could see the strength in those hands. She forced herself to turn away when she felt a strange and unnerving feeling begin to coil inside of her stomach. It was then that he turned back to her and called her name. Her stomach flipped at the sound of his voice and she realized with horror that what had been coiling inside of the pit of her stomach was a deep attraction for this cold man.

"Molly," he repeated and she started, realizing that he had used her first name.

"Yes," she said huskily forcing herself to look at him with indifferent eyes. She saw his lip quirked and she could feel the heat rush to her skin. She stared at him, wanting to scratch his eyes out for finding her discomfort so amusing.

"What does Mr. Little do for a living?" he asked still smirking.

"Oh he's quite rich," she said, ignoring how her heart fluttered in her chest.

"Quite rich and he keeps no horse and trap?" Sherlock asked. "He has to order one instead?"

Molly blinked and her expression became puzzled. "Well he is at least well off," she said. "He goes into the city at least two times a week and I have heard him speak of his gold bonds."

"Besides these unfortunate events, you have found life at Greer House pleasant?" Sherlock asked with an odd edge to his voice.

Molly looked at him with her brow creased for a moment, before answering him. "Yes," she said. "It has been delightful. Sara, Mr. Little daughter, is delightful and a most promising student."

"Have you told us everything that has occurred at Greer House, Molly?" Sherlock asked again.

John glanced at him with a raised brow, wondering why his friend had used the lady's first name twice now, as if they were more intimately acquainted. But then, John knew that Sherlock cared very little about conventions and proper etiquette.

"Yes, Mr. Holmes," she said looking down suddenly. "I have told you all that I know."

"I am afraid that you have not," Sherlock said pointedly. "You have not told us everything, Molly and I must insist that you do so now."

Sherlock swallowed hard and felt his pulse quicken when she sucked her full bottom lip between her teeth and began to chew nervously. He pushed the alien feeling aside and dismissed it at nothing but nonsense. He could feel himself becoming annoyed that he would even notice such a thing. He had always found women to be particularly silly creatures, much too sentimental and easily swayed when it came to ideas of romance.

"Well, out with it!" he snapped, his aggravation at having a physical response to this woman forced him to be harsher than he intended to be with her.

Molly looked up at him with wide and anguished eyes. "Please, Mr. Holmes, it can have no bearing on this particular incident," she said softly. "Please don't make me repeat it when I have tried so hard to forget."

Sherlock immediately softened. "I am sorry, Ms. Hooper," he said switching back to formality to protect himself or her, he could not be sure. "But I am afraid that you must tell us. It may have more bearing on this than you realize and you have come here for my help."

She nodded and quickly dabbed at her eyes. John reached over and placed his hand over hers, patting it gently. "There, there, Ms. Hooper," he said gently. "Take your time."

Sherlock looked at the large hand that covered Molly's small hand and his eyes narrowed. It was always so bloody easy for John. Sherlock swallowed down the resentment that threatened to force its way out and focused on the small, delicate woman with the elfin features.

Molly took a deep breath and slowly let it out through pursed lips. She glanced back and forth from John to Sherlock and nodded. "Alright," she said softly. "I will tell you of how I met Mr. Jack Woodley."

**_Three days previous…_**

Molly sat at the dinner table in her cranberry colored gown that was adorned with pearls around the neck line and the sleeves. It had been a gift from Mr. Rafe Little in appreciation for the great pains that Molly had taken with his child. Sara was not overly musical but under Molly's tutelage, she had begun to excel at the piano and violin.

Molly had of course balked at accepting such an expensive and personal gift, but Rafe had insisted and he was a very masterful sort of man. She also could not deny how badly she wanted the dress. It was exquisite to look at and complemented her fair skin and chestnut brown hair.

Across from Molly sat Rafe, who was smoking a cigarette as he watched his housekeeper clear the dinner table. At the end of the table sat Mr. Jack Woodley. He was a ridiculous man with ginger hair, stale blue eyes, and an odious mustache that looked more like a fat furry caterpillar that wiggled along his upper lip when he spoke. Jack Woodley was also a man of disgusting table manners as he had failed to notice the food that was stuck within his absurd mustache. He was the exact opposite of what his impeccable dress insinuated about him. He smoked a cigar as he leered at her from his seat.

Rafe glared at him contemptuously, yet he did nothing to stop Woodley from his behavior. Molly could sense that Rafe loathed the man, but she could not understand why he allowed him in the house. Rafe was about to speak when his housekeeper returned with a message for him to come to the door as a package had been delivered by hand as opposed to post.

"If you will excuse me," Rafe said. "I will return shortly." He glared at Woodley as he rose from the table and made a point to leave the door open as he left the room.

Molly sat ram rod still and to her horror, she saw as Woodley arose from his seat and sauntered to the door, closing it. "Now, isn't that better," he said.

"How so?" Molly asked with a hard edge to her voice.

"Because we have privacy," he drawled. "I like privacy, especially with such a beautiful woman." He moved to stand across the table from her. He inhaled the smoke from his cigar and blew it in her face.

"I wish you would stop blowing smoke in my face," she snapped.

"I don't believe that for a moment," he said. "When a woman says she wishes a man wouldn't do something, she generally means the opposite."

"I mean exactly what I am saying, Mr. Woodley," she snapped. "Leave me alone."

"No," he said as he came around the table towards her. "No I won't. Not until I say what is in my heart."

She jumped up from her seat and moved away from him. "What is in your heart?" she repeated with disgust.

"I want you to be my wife," he said. "I am offering you marriage."

Molly's face paled considerably. "That's absurd," she shouted. "Absolutely ludicrous." She made to move towards the door, but he stepped in front of her.

"I would make a good catch. I admit that I am rough around the edges," he said baking her into the table. "But with your tutelage," he let his words trail as he leered at her.

"Get away from me," she snapped.

"I am a wealthy man," he continued on as if she had said nothing. "I can give you anything you desire. Jewels, diamonds…" he said as he ran his hand underneath her breast.

She shoved him away violently. "I don't want diamonds," she said. "I want to be left alone."

Woodley laughed. "I'll give you a while to think about it," he said,

"Oh I have thought about it," she said. "And the question sickens me. There is no way that I would accept you."

"Very well," he said matter of factly. "How about a little kiss, just to show there are no hard feelings between us."

Molly screamed when he grabbed her roughly by the upper arms and held her in a painful grip. "No!" she shouted.

"I already told you that when a woman says no, she means yes," he said, smashing his lips against hers.

She could feel the bile rise in her throat and she gagged at the smell of his stale breath. Molly struggled violently and was able to tear her mouth away. She screamed again. The door to the dining room was flung open and in walked an enraged Rafe. He stormed towards them, wrenching Woodley away from her and delivering a punishing blow to his jaw. Woodley crashed into the floor.

"How dare you molest one of my own house hold?" Rafe roared. "Get out of my house at once, sir!"

Woodley wiped his busted lip and picked himself up from the floor. "Alright," he snapped. "I'll go. I have little time for old maids." He glared spitefully at Molly as he left the room.

Rafe looked at her. "There is nothing that I can offer you but my sincere apologies," he said. "If I swear to you that you will never see his face again, will you stay? For my daughter's sake?"

Molly swallowed hard and wiped at her eyes. "Yes," she said barely above a whisper. "If you can promise he will step foot in this house again."

"I can promise you that, Molly," he said as he left her alone in the room.

**…_..Present…._**

"Blaggard," John said.

Sherlock watched Molly as she tried to conceal her trembling at such an unpleasant memory. It angered him to know she had been treated so foully. His hands clenched at his sides, but his face was as impassive as ever. He did not want to send this woman back to Greer House and yet, he had no rights to her. And where would she stay? At Baker Street with him? Hardly! She was a respectable young woman. He suddenly found himself not only angry with this wretched man Woodley, but himself for feeling such a need to protect this woman. Then his anger began to direct itself at her for causing such unsettling feelings within him. He reigned in his anger for her sake.

"Would it be possible for you to stay with Lady McNair until I can make my investigations?" Sherlock asked.

Molly shook her head. "I couldn't leave Sara," she said. "I have a duty to her no matter what may have happened to me. She is an innocent in all of this."

_As are you!_ Sherlock thought to himself as his lips formed a thin line. _Infuriating woman!_ So she comes to him for help, but refuses his advice and puts herself into danger once again_. If she were but mine…._

Sherlock shook his head and stopped that train of thought before it went any further. She was not his. This woman was nothing more than a client.

"You will help me, Mr. Holmes?" she asked.

"Yes, of course," he said. "I am at your service. Since you insist upon returning to Greer House, I must insist that you stay in contact with myself or Dr. Watson. I will begin my inquiries into your case and you must write to me if your circumstances change at all."

Molly visibly relaxed and smiled. "Thank you, Mr. Holmes," she said with relief. "I feel safer already." She stood, as did John. "Thank you both again," she said moving towards the door.

"Now don't worry, Ms. Hooper," John said reassuringly as he took her hand in his. "All will be well, you will see."

Molly smiled at him warmly and placed her hand over his. "You're very kind," she said. "Goodbye Mr. Holmes and thank you." She turned and left the flat.

Sherlock felt a tightness in his chest that confused him and angered him as he watched her go. He felt the muscle in his jaw clench and the uneasiness begin to move within him. "You are not opposed to a trip to Surrey, John?"

"By no means," John said.

"Splendid," Sherlock said moving towards the door. "I have a few inquiries to make around town and then we shall catch this train this evening."

"What about your breakfast?" John asked as he watched Sherlock leave and begin to take the stairs down two at a time.

"Breakfast," Sherlock shouted. "Oh bother breakfast! One can have breakfast anytime! I'm on a case John."

John heard the door slam shut as Sherlock left the building. "One can have breakfast when it is time for breakfast," he mumbled as he watched Mrs. Hudson climbing the stairs with the breakfast tray. "And it is breakfast time," he said smiling appreciatively at the tray.

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**Again, thanks so much for reading! Hugs!**


	3. Chapter 3

**Hey guys...it's been awhile. I hope everyone is well! I finally felt like writing again so here's chapter 3. I hope you all enjoy, if you even remember what the story is about, lol!**

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"You understand that she must not see you John, as you follow her," Sherlock said with his eyes closed as the train rocked them surprisingly gently over the track.

"Yes Sherlock, I am not a complete moron," he said. "Where did you go this morning? You were gone for hours. Surely you must have discovered something."

"Of course I've discovered something," Sherlock said.

John waited for Sherlock to continue and when he did not, John shrugged, nestled down further into his seat and closed his eyes. They arrived at Surrey just before sundown. Once they had found an inn that was suitable to Sherlock's particular tastes, they checked in for the night.

As John ate his supper, Sherlock went over the plan for the next day in tedious detail. John was barely listening as he was much more interested in the hot meal that had been prepared for him.

"Are you paying attention, John?" Sherlock asked.

"No," John answered, popping a piece of bread into his mouth. "Not at all. Why must you drone on so? And for goodness sakes, will you eat something?"

Sherlock sighed impatiently. "You know that digestion slows my mind, Watson," he snipped.

"Oh its Watson now, is it?" John asked smiling broadly as he continued to enjoy his meal.

Sherlock's eyes narrowed. "Pay attention John, you know how I dislike repeating myself. While I pay a visit to Molly's prestigious employer, you will play the part of guard dog. You will…"

"Why can't you be the guard dog while I pay the visit?" John asked interrupting him.

"What absolute rot," Sherlock snapped. "You wouldn't have the slightest idea on how to retrieve the information that I need from this man. Besides, you are so very fond of reminding me that you were a soldier. I assumed you would prefer the role of protecting the virtuous young maiden."

"I'm not the one who fancies her," John said popping a grape in his mouth. "This is absolutely delicious. Are you sure you won't…"

"I do not fancy her," Sherlock said, his voice rumbling from the depth of the tone.

"Is that so?" John asked as he picked up his cup. "Methinks the man doth protest too much…"

"I do not fancy her," Sherlock said through clenched teeth. "She is nothing more to me than any client would be."

"I don't remember your ears turning pink with our other clients," John said smiling.

"Damn you," Sherlock said. "Do try to take this seriously John, she is in real danger."

John sighed. "I am very well aware of the danger the poor girl is in. You can count on me to keep her safe," he said.

Sherlock favored him with a crocked smile. "Good man," he said. "We must look sharp John. I believe that our man will make his move tomorrow."

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John watched from behind an old, dead tree stump as Molly peddled by on her bicycle. And just as Molly had said he would be, not 30 feet behind her was the man who had been following her. John nearly chocked and gave his position away when suddenly Molly stopped. She put her foot down onto the ground, leaned away from her bicycle to steady herself and looked back at the man, who had also stopped and mimicked her.

John watched as Molly's expression became one of determination. His eyes nearly bulged from his sockets when the daft girl turned her bicycle around, righted herself in the seat again, and charged the man. "Foolish woman," he snapped and began to stand to offer his aide which he felt surely she would need, when the stranger turned his bicycle also and began peddling away from Molly as fast as he could. John stood and watched the both of them disappear around the bend. He waited, unsure if he should follow. He managed to duck back behind his cover as he saw Molly begin peddling back towards him. Although he was rather far from her, he could see, despite the annoyance in her eyes, she was quite pleased with herself. John could not help but give a smile of pride towards her nerve. He watched her until she disappeared down the path that would take her to town.

Once she was gone, he quickly stood and made his way to the road. He ran quickly, trying to follow the bicycle trail of the strange man. He ran until he saw where the track veered into the woods. "What the devil did he go in here for?" John mumbled in a huff. "Blast…" he said as he followed the torn branches into the woods.

* * *

Sherlock had waited nearly half an hour for Rafe Little to return. As a sigh of annoyance escaped his lips as the man in question came into the study.

"Ah, Mr. Holmes," he said coming forward and taking Sherlock's hand in a surprisingly strong grip. "So sorry to have kept you waiting." He said shaking Sherlock's hand vigorously.

Sherlock quickly appraised the man. The strength in his handshake was not meant to be an aggressive gesture. Though the man looked harried, he was obviously a gentleman, very well dressed, very graceful in his movements, and very well spoken. He was a friendly sort of man within reason. Sherlock's suspected that he was often times uncomfortable in social settings, and he felt he could most certainly sympathize.

Rafe abruptly released his hand. "How ungracious of me, I must beg pardon sir, would you like a drink? Sherry? Whiskey?" He asked and before Sherlock could answer, he spoke again. "Of course, of course, scotch man, eh? I am myself."

Sherlock's brow rose in amusement. "You are a most excellent judge of character sir," he drawled. "I am a scotch man."

A sudden haunted look came over Rafe's face. "If only that were true, Mr. Holmes. If I were a good judge of character instead of a bloody fool…" he shook his head, stopping his speech. His eyes met Sherlock's and he smiled. "But that is not why you are here." He poured the dinks and handed one to Sherlock, motioning for him to be seated once again. "I do apologize for keeping you waiting. My trip into town took longer than I expected."

Sherlock began to speak when he was interrupted again, this time by the door of Rafe's study bursting open and the sudden entrance of a very small girl. The child ran to her father, giggling, and threw her arms around him. "Oh papa, I thought you would never return. Have you brought Molly back with you? I want to play for her…I've practiced for…" she stopped mid-sentence and looked at Sherlock. "Oh," she squeaked, giggling again. She turned around to face Sherlock and favored him with a large smile. Sherlock found his cheeks betraying him when he returned the lovely child's smile. "I'm ever so sorry to have interrupted." She said. "Papa," she looked once more at her father. "Have you shown proper decorum and invited our guest to dinner? You know how you often forget these things."

She moved to stand beside Sherlock. "Ever since mama has gone to the Holy Virgin, papa has become so absentminded about these things. It's a good thing that I am still here to take care of him and that papa ignored that horrid man's advice to send me away to school. Besides, Molly is an excellent teacher, isn't she papa?"

Rafe nodded, "Oh yes indeed" he readily agreed, but Sherlock noticed the slight tremor in his hand at the mention of the "horrid man".

"I would be delighted to stay for dinner," Sherlock answered. "Perhaps you could play the song for me since your governess is not here."

"Oh yes" she squealed in delight. "That would be lovely! I'll go and practice now." She gave her father a quick kiss on the cheek and blew out of the room as quickly as she had entered.

Sherlock turned his attention to the worried looking man in front of him. He gulped his drink in one swallow enjoying the brown liquid's warmth. "I hope accepting your daughter's invitation was alright?"

Rafe waved his hand dismissively, "Oh yes, yes, of course" he mumbled, downing his drink in one swig. He stood quickly and went to pour himself another drink. He held up the jar in offering to Sherlock, who declined. Rafe downed that drink just as quickly. "Now what was it you wanted to see me about, Mr. Holmes?"

The smile on Sherlock's face spread slowly. "After dinner, I fear if we spoke on it now, your daughter might find you in your cups at the supper table."

* * *

John made his way back down the wooden path, catching his foot on an upturned root and stumbling forward. He caught himself on a nearby tree. He looked up toward the darkening sky. The sun was setting and he knew he did not have long to make his way back to his hiding place before Molly would return from town, if she had not already.

He had just taken a step out of the woods and onto the gravel road when he saw her approaching. She was still far enough away that she did not notice him. He felt his body relax, letting the relief set in from seeing her. He had thought her brave today, foolish, but brave. He was also not unaware of the fact that the stranger could return tonight to follow her. John turned his head to look down the opposite direction of the gravel road and did not see the stranger. He thought it odd seeing as how Molly said the man was always there when she went into town and when she returned. He turned to look behind him, peering into the dark shadows of the woods.

He could just begin to hear the squeaking of Molly's bicycle as she came closer. He stepped back into the shadows to keep himself hidden from her. It was at that precise moment when he began to feel concerned. The night air was very cold and the silence of the night seemed very heavy. He couldn't quite place why he felt the prickling at the back of his neck. He realized that Molly must have felt it too, because she had stopped and turned her head towards the woods, as if she were straining to hear something.

John leapt from his hiding place when he saw the man coming toward her. Molly turned when she heard John move and their eyes met. He could see from her expression that she had seen what he had saw and John was too far from her to help. As John began to run towards her, he was struck hard from behind and went down even harder.

Molly barely had time to react when she was grabbed from behind and lifted from her bicycle. Her scream was cut off by a gloved hand coming over her mouth. The man turned holding her tightly against him and disappeared into the woods. The man who had struck John had also turned and vanished into the dark of the night.

* * *

Thanks for reading :) Missed you all!


	4. Chapter 4

Here's the next chapter! Thanks so much for reading and sticking with me :)

* * *

John awoke to a room that he did not recognize. As the ceiling came into focus, he concentrated on the large chandelier that hung directly above him. He groaned and pushed himself upright.

"You're not supposed to move," a very young and stern voice said to him from somewhere in the room. "Papa said that you are a doctor, so you should know better."

John slowly swung his legs so that he was upright on the royal blue colored sofa. "Yes, well, I might be more willing to stay still if I knew where I was," he responded. "How do I know that I have not been kidnapped and taken aboard some notorious pirate ship to be drowned at sea?"

The little voice giggled. John heard the brush of her dress as she stood and approached him. He squinted and looked up at her when she stood before him. He blonde curls hung in ringlets around her face. "What nonsense," she said giggling again. "Why on Earth would a pirate want to kidnap you? You're not a beautiful maiden or daring, young rouge. You'd be of no use to a pirate."

John nodded towards her as he could see the sense in her words. "Well perhaps you're right," he said grunting against the pain in his head. "Not many have a use for a worn out soldier like myself." She grinned widely at him and he smiled back. "Might I have some water?" He asked.

"Oh" she squealed. "Where are my manners? Of course you may have some water. But I imagine that you would prefer a drink from papa's whiskey flask after the crack you received."

John blinked. "You're a very interesting young girl," he said smiling. "Very bold and quite witty."

"Thank you," she said and curtsied. "My governess tells me I am witty constantly, but that I am a bit too bold for my own good. But I think that's rich coming from her, she's as bold as freshly cleaned brass."

Upon hearing the word governess, John's memory came back to him. "Ms. Hooper," he cried out and tried to stand too quickly, falling backward onto the sofa.

"John do try and contain yourself in front of the child," Sherlock called to him in a very droll voice as he entered the room. "And many thanks to you for shall we say, letting the cat out of the bag."

John's gaze rose to meet Sara's and he could see by the confused expression on her face, she did not understand why he had shouted for Molly Hooper. Sherlock put his arm around Sara and led her to her papa's chair. He sat her down and knelt in front of her. "I am very sorry to have to tell you this," Sherlock said gently. "Your father wanted it kept from you as long as possible, but thanks to my dear friend and colleague Dr. Watson, that is now impossible. You must be brave little Sara, because your papa and Ms. Hooper will need you to be so."

Sara swallowed hard and nodded, bracing herself for the news. Sherlock opened his mouth to speak, but before he could, Sara's expression became mixture of fear, anger, and a bit of determination. "Oh I know it's that horrid man isn't it?" she asked. "He's done something to Molly hasn't he? He's taken her away. I knew he would try something with her. You should've seen how improper and odious he always behaved in front of her."

"Sara darling," Her father called as he entered the room. "I didn't want you to know…I didn't want you to worry." He came to her and pulled her into his arms.

"Oh papa," she said, crying softly. "I would've known something was wrong. I can always tell when you are upset. And Mr. Holmes said that he is the world's only consulting detective, I knew there was some reason as to why we would have a detective in the house."

Rafe took his daughter gently by the arms. "My dearest, will you go into the music room and play something soothing for your papa? Take Dr. Watson with you, I'm sure the music would do him well also."

"Yes of course," she said as she sniffled. "I'll play some of Molly's favorites; maybe it will lessen how much we miss her." She turned and took John by his hand. John pushed himself up and steadied himself on Sherlock who was beside him. He gave Sherlock a questioning glance before following Sara out of the room.

"I can't imagine why you would desire Dr. Watson to be removed from the room…"

"I thought perhaps my shouting would worsen his headache," Rafe bit out. He whirled around on Sherlock. "It will not do," he shouted. "It simply will not do, sir! You swore to protect her. You claimed you foresaw every move that bastard would make…you swore he would never lay a hand on her and now you stand here idly in my drawing room instead of searching for her. Where are the constables? Where are the…"

"Calm yourself Mr. Little," Sherlock said.

"Calm myself?" Rafe shouted even louder. "Are you daft man? Molly has been taken God's knows where by the most abhorrent of men and only God knows what he is doing to her. I will kill him myself with my bare hands, I will…"

"You called her Molly," Sherlock stated calmly.

Rafe blinked in confusion for a moment. "What in the devil does that have to do with anything?"

Sherlock sat down and made himself comfortable. "As her employer, I find it odd that you would refer to Ms. Hooper in such a familiar fashion."

Rafe's neck began to flush. "Well…the frustration of what is happening to her has made me forget myself and…"

"I dislike being lied to Mr. Little," Sherlock said staring at him pointedly. "You did not forget yourself. You called her by her first name because of the fear that you feel for her and by your passionate response to throttle the man with your bare hands, I would say that you are in love with Ms. Hooper."

Rafe stared at him silently for a moment before sighing in defeat. "Yes damn you, I love her."

Sherlock smiled satisfied with the answer and stood. "Now I must recover John and begin my inquiries as to where Mr. Woodley might have taken Ms. Hooper," he walked to the door, but looked back at Rafe. "I will keep you informed Mr. Little and rest assured; I will find Ms. Hooper unspoiled.

* * *

Sherlock and John had been walking for nearly two hours toward town when Sherlock finally spoke. "It is a lovely afternoon is it not, John?" Sherlock said breathing in deeply. "The fresh air will do you good."

They continued to walk on in silence with the occasional huff of annoyance from John. Sherlock stopped to regard him. "Alright, out with it," he said. "What has you in such a dour mood John?"

"How could you possibly in good conscious tell the man that you would find Ms. Hooper and that you would find her unspoiled? You know what kind of man this Woodley is," John shouted. "Of all the irresponsible…"

"Molly is quite safe, I assure you," Sherlock said.

John whirled around to face him. "How in the world could you possibly say that she is safe when…"John stopped speaking as a thought pushed into his mind. "Sherlock please tell me that you were not the man I saw dragging Ms. Hooper from her bicycle."

"If it will fulfill some need within you for me to deny it, then I will do so," Sherlock said giving an elegant shrug. "But of course its bullocks, because I was indeed the man who very gently, I might add, I did not drag her, but very gently removed her from her bicycle."

"Why in God's name would you do that?" John shouted loudly waving throwing out his hands in exasperation. He stopped and peered at Sherlock. "Did you club me over the head?"

Sherlock snorted. "Don't be ridiculous John," he said. "I was detained by removing Ms. Hooper from her bicycle, how could I have possibly clubbed you over the head."

"Well do you know who bloody well did it?" John bit out in annoyance.

Sherlock sighed and rolled his eyes. "Well of course I do," he said. "Your assailant was none other than Mr. Woodley come to attempt to steal Molly away when he found you watching over her. He knocked you unconscious at the same time he saw Ms. Hooper already being stolen away by me. He disappeared back into the woods."

John ran his hand over his face slowly and let out a long deep breath. "Why did you take Molly and where is she?"

"Because I wanted to gauge Mr. Little's reaction," he said. "I had to satisfy myself that he is truly in love with her and would not cause her harm."

"And are you satisfied?" John asked. "Good Lord, he's in love with her?"

Sherlock looked at him as if he were looking at someone very thick headed. "How unobservant you are John," he said sighing deeply. "I often despair of you."

"Never mind all that Sherlock, are you satisfied?" John pressed.

"Yes, I am most certain that Mr. Little is in love with her and means her no harm," he said. "As to where she is, I simply returned her to her mentor Lady McNair who has my upmost confidence in keeping Ms. Hooper safe."

"How did you know that Woodley would try to take her?" John asked.

"Because she has just recently come into a rather large sum of money bequeathed to her by her dead Uncle. I have also shared in many a conversation regarding the oaf with the town folk. They are all in accord with what a vile, loathsome, violent man, Woodley is," Sherlock said. "I knew he would attempt to force her into marriage when she first told us of his preposterous proposal. Woodley hoped to abduct her, force her to marry him, and then he would take power over her fortune while subjecting her to only God knows what horrid atrocities as his wife. She would be completely at his mercy."

"Sherlock the man may have planned to abduct her, but he cannot force her to marry. She would actually be required to speak her consent to the vicar," John said.

"Not a disgraced Vicar, who is now a town drunk, who was promised a small piece of Molly's fortune once she became Mrs. Woodley," Sherlock said.

"Good Lord," John said shaking his head in disgust. "But if Woodley's intent was to kidnap and rob her of her fortune by fraud, surely you have the evidence to have him in front of the magistrate?"

"All my evidence is circumstantial as of now, John," Sherlock said. "But I only need wait a few more hours for a telegram that I am expecting and then, my friend, we may consider this case another success in our fight for good sense and justice."

Sherlock sighed contentedly and began walking again. John followed beside him in silence, his annoyance at being kept out of the loop slowly dissipating. Both men turned when they heard Sara calling out to them. She ran towards them, waving a letter frantically. Both men could see the wetness on her face from her tears.

"Mr. Holmes," she cried out. "Dr. Watson, you must come. Please, oh please." Sara was running so hard and fast that when she stopped suddenly, she pitched forward and fell into John's arms. "You must come back, please," she cried into his arms.

"Sara, what has happened?" John asked.

"That horrible man," she began, trying to speak through her tears. "Papa thinks he has taken Molly and he went away with his pistol after him."

Sherlock smiled. "My dear Sara, I can assure you that Ms. Hooper is quite safe."

"But you and Dr. Watson told Papa that she had been kidnapped," she cried.

"And I was mistaken," Sherlock said. "I had a letter from Ms. Hooper yesterday stating that she had been called away urgently to wait upon Lady McNair."

Sara pulled away from John. "But papa received this from Molly a half hour after you and Dr. Watson had left stating that she would be returning today, that her business with Lady McNair was done, and she would be coming back home to us. Papa sent a tram to fetch her and when the tram returned without the driver, he knew something must have happened to Molly. He shouted about Mr. Woodley, grabbed his pistol, and went away."

Sherlock took the telegram from Sara and read it quickly. "Damn," he whispered. "Stubborn, foolish woman." He shoved the telegram into his pocket, whisked Sara up into his arms and began running back towards the heath. "Come on John, damn you, we may have only moments to stop a most wretched crime."

John followed behind Sherlock and when the men reached the heath and gravel road, Sherlock sat Sara on her feet and pushed her in the direction of her home. "Run home Sara, as quickly as you can and have the man servant call for the Inspector." She nodded and ran as quickly as she could.

Sherlock immediately began scanning the ground and entrances into the woods. John knew that Sherlock was looking for disturbed ground and helped him search. "Here," Sherlock shouted and as John looked up, he disappeared into the woods on an off path. John quickly joined him and they followed the upturned roots and broken brush until they found the murdered tram driver. He had been shot in the head. John knelt down to check his vitals, but shook his head.

Their heads snapped up when they heard a muffled scream. "John, this way, quickly," Sherlock said with a desperation that John had not witnessed before. "Now, before we're too late."

Sherlock and John followed the muffled weeping until they reached a clearing. John stopped short and was appalled at what he saw. Woodley held a bound and gagged Molly Hooper tightly against him as she struggled to get away from him. The Vicar stood in front of the couple performing a wedding ceremony. When he asked if Molly would take Woodley to be her husband, Woodley grabbed her hair and knotted it within his hand, forcing her to nod. The Vicar quickly pronounced them man and wife…it was done. The wretched, vile, man had won.

A moment later Rafe Little burst through the brush holding his pistol. "I couldn't protect her from you, Woodley, but by my life, I'll make her a widow and set her free."

Sherlock and John both shouted from Rafe to stop at the same time his fired his pistol. It struck Woodley in the shoulder and knocked him down. Rafe moved forward, grabbed Molly and pushed her into John's arms. He then turned and stood over Woodley, pointing his weapon once again.

"Alright," the Vicar shouted, pointing his own pistol at Rafe. "I've had enough of this damn nonsense."

"Perhaps you should have considered your choices more wisely then," Sherlock said coming up behind the Vicar and holding a gun to his head. The old man dropped the gun and Sherlock stepped toward Rafe. "Mr. Little may I strongly advise you to drop your weapon. I understand your horror at this scene. I understand the guilt that you feel for the part that you played, but even then I must say to you that you are too good of a man to hang for this worm. Do not forget that you have a daughter at home who has already lost one parent. Being convicted of fraud is much preferable to being convicted of murder, no matter how deserving the man might be."

"Fraud?" John gasped as he held a sobbing Molly. "What do you mean his part in this?"

Sherlock sighed and rolled his eyes. "I thought it would have been obvious John," he said. "Mr. Woodley and Mr. Little planned to defraud Ms. Hooper from her inheritance together. Only Mr. Little did not plan on falling in love with her nor did he plan on his scruples getting in the way. And he certainly did not plan on Woodley trying to continue with the scheme once he had backed out."

Sherlock took another step towards Rafe and placed his hand over the hand holding the pistol. "I am afraid that you are not quite cut out for a life of crime Mr. Little and you have no business or experience in dealing with men such as these." He said as he delivered a small kick to Woodley's side.

"But what can be done?" Rafe asked miserably. "My God man, you have to let me make this right for her. I cannot bear the thought of her bound this this filth for the rest of her innocent life."

"Do not concern yourself Mr. Little, a forced marriage will never hold up in court," Sherlock said. Soon the brush was parted again and two young constables came forward. "Ah, Constable Reeves, Constable Whitt, if you would be so kind as to pick Mr. Woodley up and carry him to Mr. Little's house. He has been shot and Dr. Watson will attend to him."

"Mr. Holmes sir," Constable Reeves said. "This is most irregular sir."

"Indeed it is," Sherlock agreed. "But we must be willing to carry out our duties even in the most trying of time."

"Oh yes sir," Constable Reeves said, motioning for Whitt to help him. The two men lifted the unconscious Woodley and carried him out of the clearing. Sherlock motioned for Rafe to follow John who still held the crying Molly to him as they walked. Sherlock turned the pistol pointedly at the Vicar.

"Shall we?" Sherlock asked smiling pleasantly.


	5. Chapter 5

Hi guys, here's the last chapter in part 1 of this story. A sequel is in the works! Thanks so much for reading and not giving up on me :)

Enjoy!

* * *

Rafe paced frantically as he waited for the Chief Inspector to arrive and Dr. Watson to come downstairs from attending to Molly.

Sherlock watched him pace as he held the pistol toward the Vicar. All at once, Rafe turned to face Sherlock and took two long strides until he was standing directly in front of him.

"You said this marriage would never hold in court," he said. "Explain yourself man."

Sherlock's brow rose. "As you, myself, and Dr. Watson are all witnesses to the farce of a ceremony, we can give witness accounts as to how it was forced upon Ms. Hooper," he said. "However, it will never come to that because it was not a legally preformed ceremony."

"Of course it was legal," the Vicar shouted.

Sherlock looked at him with disdain. "That marriage certificate is as about as worthless as your signature," he snapped. "You are no more a Vicar than I am."

"That is a blasted lie," The Vicar shouted as he stood. "I am an ordained…"

"You were ordained many years ago before the church excommunicated you for your gambling, drinking, and womanizing," Sherlock said as he handed Rafe a document with his other hand.

Rafe opened it and read the words greedily. A look of absolute relief and joy spread over his face. He looked up at the Vicar. The Vicar took a step back as a look of rage slowly crossed Rafe's face. The crunch from Rafe's fist hitting the Vicar's nose was sickening.

"Goodness, that was unexpected," Sherlock said with a bored expression. "I suppose that I no longer am in need of this." He put the pistol down and stepped over the unconscious Vicar, taking Rafe by the arm and leading him away. "Now sit down, sir and make yourself comfortable. Would you like a whiskey?"

Rafe nodded and rubbed his sore knuckles. Sherlock poured him as drink as John came into the sitting room with the Chief Inspector in tow. Rafe jumped to his feet.

"How is she?" Rafe asked.

John smiled and patted his hand. "She is resting," he said. "I gave her a sedative. There are some bruises and scrapes that will need to heal, but she will be alright in a few days' time. It's her nerves that will need longer to heal."

"Damn him to hell," Rafe said.

"Well he won't be going to his reward anytime soon," John said. "The shot went straight through his shoulder."

"Were it but through his black heart," Rafe said.

"Now, now sir," Chief Inspector Lang said. "It is a good thing it was not his heart or you would be facing murder."

Rafe nodded and sat back down. Sherlock handed him his drink. "Chief Inspector please sit down and Mr. Little will explain everything."

Lang looked behind Sherlock and smiled. "This is the first time I have seen old Mick laying on the floor of a sitting room as opposed to the local pub. What in the devil is he to do with this?" he asked Sherlock.

"I suppose I shall begin for Mr. Little and allow him to calm himself with his drink," Sherlock said motioning for John and the Inspector to sit. Both men did and Sherlock sat back on the duvet. "It all began several years ago. I had business in London…"

"Yes, kidnapping I'm told," Lang said smiling.

Sherlock glared at John who shrugged. "As I was saying," Sherlock began again. "As I was getting Ms. Hooper to safety, I stopped by the train station as I had word that I had received a telegram. I knew that it would be a response to a few inquiries that I had made regarding Ms. Hooper and her Uncle. I discovered that Mr. Little had once been a business partner of Ms. Hooper's Uncle while both men were in India."

John and Lang glanced at Rafe who gave a slight nod. Sherlock continued when both men looked back at him. "Mr. Hooper was a great deal older than Mr. Little, but the men were still good friends as well as business partners. Mr. Little however met Mr. Woodley and the latter was able to seduce Mr. Little in the world of gambling and cards. Unfortunately, Mr. Little was not as skilled as Mr. Woodley and he lost nearly all of his money."

Rafe sighed deeply. "What a fool I was," he said. "My wife had only just died and in my grief, I selflessly sought anything I could to make me forget my grief. The welfare of my child was never in my mind during those times."

Sherlock nodded. "So Woodley concocted a scheme to steal Molly's inheritance. Mr. Little went along with it, despite the friendship and respect that he felt for her Uncle. What Mr. Woodley did not know, however, was that Mr. Little had set aside forty thousand pounds for Ms. Hooper under a false American business venture."

All three men looked at Rafe and his cheeks colored slightly. "Not really one for the criminal life Mr. Little," Lang commented gravely. "You could get yourself killed trying to do something like that with the wrong people."

"Yes Mr. Little and I have already discussed his ludicrous endeavor into the criminal world," Sherlock said. "So as Mr. Little had deduced, Mr. Hooper had left him in control of Molly's fortune until control of the funds could be made available to her. Now all that was left was to gain control of Molly through matrimony so that he and Mr. Woodley would have access and complete control of her inheritance."

"But why even bother to tell her about the inheritance?" Lang asked. "Wouldn't it have just been easier to steal the money and never tell her?"

"Mr. Hooper's solicitors would have written to Molly also informing her of the inheritance and that Mr. Little was holding it for her until she would be able to come and receive it," Sherlock said.

Lang nodded. "I see," he said. "What a pretty mess this is."

"And then Mr. Little fell in love with Ms. Hooper," Sherlock said. "But even before he felt love for her, I would deduce that you had already decided to spare her from this?"

Rafe nodded. "Yes," he said. "I told Woodley that I would have no more of this scheme and he would not back down. He insisted and I knew that if I did nothing, that he would try something as fiendish as he did to force her to marry him. I thought that if I put her under my employ that I could keep watch over her."

"So that is why you concocted the scheme of following her daily when she would ride her bicycle into town," John said.

"Yes John, do point out the obvious," Sherlock said sarcastically.

John glared at him, but said nothing.

"Where is Molly's inheritance now?" Sherlock asked.

"I have the full two hundred thousand pounds in three different accounts. One is her in England, another is Bulgaria, and the rest of the funds are still in India, being held there by my solicitor," Rafe said before looking pointedly at Sherlock. "What is to happen to my daughter?"

Sherlock blinked as if in surprise. "I will speak for you myself against the charge of fraud," he said. "And I am certain that no charges will be brought against you in the shooting of Mr. Woodley, you were acting to protect Ms. Hooper."

"If I am to serve time for the fraud," Rafe said. "What will happen to Sara?"

Sherlock smiled and leaned forward. "I feel certain that you needn't worry. Ms. Hooper will see that Sara is taken care of if there should be any need."

Lang sighed. "Well I'm glad that this is over Mr. Holmes," he said standing. "I suppose that I had better take charge of Mr. Woodley and I'm sorry sir, but you as well Mr. Little."

"Yes, of course," Rafe said standing. "I understand. Mrs. Morris will look after Sara and Ms. Hooper, until she is better. Please allow a few moments with Sara gentlemen."

"Yes sir," Lang said, "Of course, sir."

John and Sherlock stood, following Lang out of the room. A few moments later, Sara entered the room and ran to her father's arms.

* * *

Sherlock sat in the duvet holding the liquid gold beverage in his hand. In one gulp, he swallowed the scotch and winced when the smooth liquid burned his throat. Lang had taken Rafe Little, buffoon, and that pathetic excuse for a Vicar into custody over an hour ago and John was upstairs seeing to Molly.

Sara came into the sitting room with an empty glass. She frowned at Sherlock as she sat the glass down. Sherlock's brow rose in question. "May I ask why you favor me with such a petulant expression, young Sara?" he asked her.

Sara walked toward him and placed her hands on her hips. "I know very good and well that you are quite intelligent sir," she said stiffly. "You knew that that wretched man would attempt this terrible thing with Molly."

Sherlock waited for her to continue and when she did not, he sighed. "And your point, little girl?"

She huffed annoyed at what she perceived to be his dimness at the moment. "For such an intelligent man and for one who admires Molly so much…"

Sherlock frowned as his cheeks reddened. "I do not admire her…"

"Of course you do," she snapped. "Any fool with half a brain can see this and stop interrupting, it is most uncouth." She paused and gave him a pointed look. "As I was saying, for such an intelligent man, you should have assumed Molly would want to return home as quickly as she did. You know very well how stubborn and independent she is. And now she is laying upstairs in a terrible state having gone through such a dreadful experience."

"Are you saying that I should have prevented this?" he asked with an amused grin.

She through her small hands up in the air and sighed. "Of course you should have prevented it," she said.

Sherlock smiled. "I can assure you that I am well aware of her audacity," he said. "But even I did not foresee she would be as foolish as to attempt to return home alone, especially after I had explained to her what I knew Woodley would attempt."

"You should have stopped her," Sara said.

"And how would you suggest that I do this?" He asked. "By tying her to my coffee table back at Baker Street?'

"You are stronger than her," she said.

"My dear girl, I am not like the pirates that you so enjoy reading about in your adventure books," he said.

"Well that has never been more evident," she said with a smirk.

Sherlock's eyes narrowed slightly. "You are a very cheeky girl," he said with a small grin. "I would never behave so boorishly."

The girl actually had the audacity to snort at him. "And kidnapping is not boorish," she said. "Really Mr. Holmes," she added tsking him. "But I guess we shall see who the better man in the end is."

Sherlock sat up straight and quirked one elegant brow.

"And what is that supposed to mean little Sara?" Sherlock asked.

"I suppose it's really up to Molly now," she said smiling. "I wonder who she will choose. The great detective or my father?"

She turned on her heals and skipped out of the room, humming as she went. Sherlock glared after her and rested his chin on the tips of his fingers. "Indeed, we shall see, little Sara," he said as a slow smile spread over his face.

* * *

The End of Part One.

Thanks to everyone for reading and supporting!


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